Asher had told me about her when he returned to Alkali Lake after his fever. Flint has described her to me also, but Asher’s description was more accurate. I thought he was being dramatic. We were just six at that time. It made sense that he might have exaggerated things or hallucinated in the heat of his sickness, but Zuly is as he said: a doctor with the eyes of a fox, the face of a vulture, and the body of a witch.

I fumble for my rucksack, pull out the goods Ma packed.

Zuly turns over the jars and inspects the bread. She passes the potatoes to a young woman at her rear. “Plant these. They will grow better fare than these surely taste.” She turns back to me. “What else?”

“Nothing,” I manage. “That was it.”

Zuly’s eyes flick to Indie’s prone form on the deck, then back to me. “To deal with this costs more. You have nothing else of value?”

Beneath my shirt and hidden from view, the lodestone seems to burn on my breastbone. Indie would be worth it, but I can’t give it up. If I do, we’ll never find our way home, and then all of this will be for nothing.

A shout across the deck draws my attention. The pack-members are struggling with one of the linens. Their tether has snapped. It is now too short to properly bind the cover in place.

“Rope,” I say. “I can give you rope.” I grab the tie that holds my hair in a knot and pull it loose. My dark hair tumbles to my waist. The pieces not already matted or braided are caught by the wind and blow across my eyes. I grab one of the long sections of braid. “How many?”

“Three.”

I draw my Old World knife, gather the braids high near my scalp, and saw through them.

“I will do my best despite the meager payment,” Zuly says as I hand the braids over. She nods to her pack-members and they scoop Indie up and lug her away, passing through a door that must lead to the inside of the tanker.

“Wait— I want to come. I need to stay with—”

“You will stay at a distance,” Zuly says. “Your energy is too tight, young . . .”

“Delta,” I tell her. “Of Dead River.”

“You will bring disaster upon this healing. Keep back. Someone will get you when there is news.” Zuly turns, her robe fanning out near her feet, and disappears after her women.

I look helplessly around the deck. Torches are whipping in the wind. Dust stings my cheeks. Glancing back across the ocean bed, I can no longer make out the watchtower rig.

“Come inside,” says a young girl who is roughly Pewter’s age.